


With Flowers In Her Hair

by Caitlincheri28



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Acceptance, Christmas Eve, Dumbledore's Armada's Make The Yuletide Gay Found Family Flash Fic Fest, F/F, Falling In Love, Family, Flowers, Fluff, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, LGBTQ Female Character, Post-War, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Quidditch Player Ginny Weasley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:48:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28504746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caitlincheri28/pseuds/Caitlincheri28
Summary: All Daphne Greengrass ever wanted was the freedom to choose how she wore her hair.After a chance encounter with a certain untamed lioness, she will try to find the courage to do so.
Relationships: Daphne Greengrass/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 33
Kudos: 39
Collections: DA's Found Family - Make The Yuletide Gay





	With Flowers In Her Hair

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [KrysKrossZee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrysKrossZee/pseuds/KrysKrossZee) in the [FoundFamilyMakeTheYuletideGay](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/FoundFamilyMakeTheYuletideGay) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> "A home isn't always the house we live in. It's also the people we choose to surround ourselves with." - T.J. Klune.
> 
> I had such a wonderful time writing this piece for Dumbledore's Armada 'Make The Yuletide Gay' Flash Fic Fest! Thank you so much KrysKrossZee for hosting and providing such amazing prompts. 
> 
> Special shout out to my amazing alphabet team WhatSoMalfoy and MissyJAnne!

Daphne Greengrass hated her hair. 

As far back as she could remember, her mother forced her to pull, twist, and tame her curls into submission. In fact, Daphne assumed that her mother’s obsession with her hair started the second she was born. She sweetly kissed her newborn on the forehead and immediately made sure to smooth out the baby fuzz. 

When Daphne was five years old, she went outside to play in the gardens. She took down her expertly crafted updo, allowing her hair to cascade down her back. She spent the afternoon adorning her curly locks with daisies and other delicate flowers. Barefoot, with a sense of adventure, Daphne imagined herself a beautiful forest fairy—unkempt and wild.

It took three days to calm the frizz and pull the weeds from her head. She was never again allowed to play outside. Pure-blood girls would someday be pure-blood wives, and a single hair out of place simply would not do. Daphne was raised knowing that her hair was a reflection of herself; poised and tamed. However, when Daphne looked in the mirror, the only thing she felt was cold and trapped. 

Even now, as a healer at St. Mungo’s, Daphne was always conscious about her hair. Her curls were always pulled back into a sleek, tight bun—not a single flyway in sight. It did not matter how intense or extreme the emergency, Daphne remained poised and tamed. 

***

The first thing Daphne noticed about Ginevra Weasley was her absolutely wild hair. She recalled that on the Quidditch field, Ginny would always wear her hair down—allowing it to catch the wind like a burning flame. Daphne envied the strength and unabashed fervour that Ginny always seemed to exude. Her fiery, wild hair matched the energy she radiated. It truly wasn’t a surprise that Daphne immediately recognized the girl in the hospital bed with her leg in a cast and a scowl on her face. 

Stopping at the edge of the bed, Daphne glanced down at her notepad. “Good Afternoon, Miss Weasley. How are you feeling?”

Ginny crossed her arms and let out an undignified huff. “How do you think I’m feeling, Greengrass? I’m sitting here with a broken leg instead of out training on the field.” Throwing her head back into her pillow, she sighed, “and tomorrow is the most important match of the season.” 

  
Daphne’s eyes shot up, shocked that Ginny remembered her name. “Your break isn’t too terrible...The Skele-Gro should only take a few hours.” She glanced back down to her notes. “You should be on your way before dinner.” 

When she was met with silence, Daphne looked back at Ginny who seemed completely exhausted. Head cocked slightly, she was giving Daphne a peculiar look. She took a deep breath before hesitating, “Sorry I snapped at you, uh….”

“Daphne.”

“That’s right. Sorry. I always mixed up you and your sister.” 

“Oh..um, it’s okay." Not wanting to reveal how anxious she felt, Daphne tried not to fidget. "Honestly, I was kind of surprised you recognised me at all. We weren’t exactly _friends_ , were we?” 

Tucking her hair behind her ear and shifting slightly, Ginny smirked. “No, I suppose not.” 

Nodding her head, Daphne turned to leave. Just as she was about to reach the door, Ginny stammered “Did you say I’d be out by dinner? Would, uh...would you like to grab a bite with me?” 

Daphne surprised herself with the ease at which she responded “yes”. 

***

After a dinner that quickly blossomed from awkwardness to remarkable ease, Ginny invited Daphne to come and watch her Quidditch match the following day. Once again, Daphne got to bear witness to Ginny’s immeasurable agility and strength on the field. 

Daphne’s favourite moment was after the game when a sweaty and elated Ginny flew by on her broomstick, high on winning, and threw a wink in her direction. 

Months passed in a blur of red hair, pink Moscato, and side-splitting laughs at Ginny’s flat. 

Daphne adored Ginny’s flat.

The rooms were far too warm and her couch had far too many pillows, but in comparison to the cold and pristine house of her parents, she felt entirely at ease in the cluttered space. 

Daphne was beginning to realize she also adored Ginny. 

The first time Daphne opened up about her family, Ginny held her close. The confessions of hate spilled out of her like an avalanche of icy snow—how could her family force her into an arranged marriage? How could they have stayed neutral during the war? How could they exist in a perpetual state of judgment and false superiority? 

Daphne wept softly, admitting to Ginny in gentle whispers how she'd longed for freedom even from a young age. How the grassy fields had called to her, beckoning her to let her hair loose—to tangle the wildflowers in her locks and transform into a wild fairy.

Ginny tenderly lifted her chin and smiled. Rising to her knees in front of Daphne, she began to pull each pin from her tight updo, one by one, until Daphne’s long blonde hair fell over her shoulders. Ginny conjured daisies and gently braided them into Daphne’s hair, making sure to leave curly tendrils out to frame her delicate features. 

And then Ginny kissed her—soft and slow—pouring out an entirely new kind of love that Daphne had never known. She was lost in Ginny and never wanted to be found. This is the life she always wanted. 

But Daphne _knew_ it was too good to be true. 

In early December, her mother confronted her about Ginny. Blinded by the romantic haze that engulfed them, they weren’t careful. Her mother had seen her holding hands and kissing Ginny while Christmas shopping in Diagon Alley. Her mother had told her father, and her father immediately drafted a betrothal contract with some pure-blood man in France. They forbade her from leaving the house and told her she needed to end things with Ginny immediately. 

Daphne had to draft her letter to Ginny three times before it was legible. Shaking fingers and falling tears made the ink run—the black ink blotches on the paper reflecting the dark stains residing on her heart. Nothing made sense. 

How does a person end things with someone they love through an owl post? 

Crushed and defeated, Daphne resigned to her fate. What choice did she have? She watched with a broken heart as her owl flew off into the night—clutching the letter, and any hope of happiness, in his sharp talons. 

Her hair was sleek and perfect the night she met her intended.

***

It was Christmas Eve and the snow fell gently from the darkened skies. Daphne poked at her dinner while her mother rattled on about the perfect spring wedding she was planning for Daphne. 

Daphne sighed, giving non-committal nods in her mother’s direction. 

“...and I was thinking about your hair, Daphne. What do you think about a…”

_Her hair._

Daphne looked over at her mother—studying her closely. She was elegant and refined. She wore a beautiful set of Christmas robes and her hair was pulled up tight with perfectly styled curls flowing down her back. Daphne could not find a single flyaway. 

She glanced over at her father. Stoic and stern as he gazed out the window. He looked miserable as usual. 

She stared across the table at her little sister. Poised and pretty—delicately cutting her vegetables, a lace napkin draped across her thighs. Her beautiful silky hair pulled and tamed into a low side bun. Not a single hair out of place. 

Suddenly it hit her like a runaway bludger. This cold, pristine, outwardly perfect yet utterly miserable existence could not be how she spent her life.

She could not— _would not_ —be her mother. 

She was flooded with images of a bed that was too soft. Of a couch with too many pillows. Of a coffee table adorned with books, papers, and forgotten teacups. Countertops with an embarrassing amount of empty wine bottles. She saw a head of wild red hair pulling her close—wrapping her up with the smell of vanilla and cinnamon. She saw a life of giggling and love and flowers in her hair. 

Stranding abruptly, Daphne stated “I’m leaving. I’m sorry I just....can’t do this.” 

She stared down at the shocked expressions of her family, watching the wheels spin in their brains as they tried to piece together what she meant. 

“You can’t leave.” Her father was angry, but before he had the chance to stop her, Daphne was running towards the Floo—ripping out the pins that held up her hair. 

Taking one last look at her family, standing in the house that never truly felt like a home, she Floo’d to Ginny’s flat. 

***

It was empty. 

Of course, it was empty. Because it was Christmas Eve and Ginny would be at The Burrow—surrounded by a family that exudes warmth and comfort. A family that loves and accepts her for who she is; no expectations. 

She considered waiting there until Ginny returned, but she was past the point of no return and needed to tell Ginny how important she was to her. Though she was shy, Daphne would announce her love in front of the entire Weasley clan—hell she would announce it to the entire world if she had to. 

She apparated to the front porch of the Burrow. 

She could hear lively music, the smell of coffee and sweet gingerbread wafting from the home. It was silent outside—everything blanketed by the newly falling snow. 

Taking a deep breath, Daphne gathered all the courage she possessed and knocked on the door. 

After a few moments of thumping and various declarations of who would answer the door, Ginny appeared, a spoon hanging out of her mouth and a wild messy bun flopped on top of her head. All Daphne could see were flyaways. 

Ginny quickly pulled the spoon from her mouth, whispering “You’re here.” 

Daphne saw all the Weasleys peering around behind Ginny, uncertainty written across their faces. 

“I’m here. There’s nowhere else I would rather be in this moment than here with you, Ginny.” Daphne started to choke on a sob, “...I am so sorry. I was cowardly. I let them have control over me….but tonight I realised that they have no _business_ controlling me.” She took a step forward and gently ran her fingers down Ginny’s cheek. “You’re all that matters, Ginny...and... I love you.” 

Ginny stared at Daphne, wide-eyed and frozen. 

“Oi! Ginny!” The voice of George Weasley carried over the sound of the record player. “Kiss her, you silly bint!” 

Pulled from her stupor, Ginny flung her spoon right at George’s face and yanked Daphne into a passionate embrace. 

Kissing her cheeks and running her fingers through Daphne’s unruly hair, she murmured “I knew you’d come. I knew you would be brave. I love you so much.” 

Pulling away slowly, Ginny grabbed Daphne’s hand and led her into the warmth and comfort of her childhood home. Daphne felt more safe and cared for than she had ever felt in her entire life. She was surrounded by love, friendship, and acceptance. 

Yes, Daphne was most certainly home. 

Before they went to sleep, Ginny plucked a perfect Poinsettia flower from a nearby vase. Turning to face Daphne, she transfigured the Christmas flower into a pristine, white daisy. Ginny leaned in close and placed the daisy behind Daphne’s ear, whispering softly, “I hope you wear flowers in your hair every day from this day forward”. 

Daphne blushed as she snuggled in closer to Ginny. Falling asleep peacefully with the knowledge that she would wake in a bed adorned with too many pillows, and would forever have the freedom to weave flowers in her hair. 


End file.
